The Price of Glory (14 page)

“Then he showed more sense than you did,” she informed him with a reproving slap upon the wrist. He reflected that if any of his officers or crew could have witnessed this iniquity he should have had to seek alternative employment. Fortunately they were alone. “So have they sent you home to convalesce?”

“What—for a scratch upon the head? That would be a fine thing. No, I am obliged to attend a meeting at the Admiralty.”

“Why ? Are you in disgrace, my pet?”

“Good God, Mother, you always look on the dark side. Why should I be in disgrace?” But he was sharply reminded that for all Lady Catherine's avowed naivety on certain subjects—naval and agricultural in particular—she had an unnerving way of divining the truth of the matter: the summons from the Admiralty being couched in a form that left him under no illusion that he was called to account for his several misdemeanours.

She regarded him shrewdly. “Well, I am sure I cannot tell what mischief you get up to when you are off on your adventures but I know from your manner—and the way you are slumped with that hangdog look about you—that there is something amiss. However, if you do not wish to tell me, so be it.”

“Mother, I have just travelled up from Portsmouth in a rackety old chaise. I am sorry if I appear ‘slumped.' I suspect it is because my arse is a few inches closer to my head than when we started out.”

Her lips twitched. “Well, it is beyond wonderful, you vulgar specimen. I suppose I had better fetch you some refreshment. Would you like a gin?”

“No, I would not like a gin. When did you take to dispensing gin? I hope you are not drinking it,” he added sternly. “It does no favours to the complexion, you know.”

“So I have been informed.”

“And what has happened to the servants?” He looked about him as if they might spring like genies from a bottle. Of gin, no doubt. “Where is Phipps?”

“I had to let Phipps go, and most of the others, for reasons of economy. There is just Izzy and she has gone to the market so we may have something to eat apart from chitlins.”

Nathan stared at his mother in astonishment but resolved not to pursue the matter. He looked about him once more, this time more appraisingly.

“And I take it this is the reason you are living in Soho. For reasons of economy.”

“Oh no, I just took a fancy to the area,” she replied airily. “It is far more interesting than St James's, you know, with all the French that are living here. The pastry shops are quite wonderful and there is even a Huguenot church across the way, did you notice? I only have to walk there on Sundays and may leave the carriage in the mews.”

“Well, I am glad you are making light of it,” he assured her huffily.

“And what would you have me do—throw myself off London Bridge?”

“Is it really as bad as that?”

“Of course not. My goodness, if you think this is poverty, my lad, you need to look about you. It is not the rookeries, you know.”

“Mother, a year ago you would not have known what the rookeries were, or chitlins.”

“Nonsense. How dare you! I have always taken the liveliest interest in social conditions, as you very well know. A great deal more than you have, I might add.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “All I am saying is that it must have been a great …
challenge
to you to make the … the
adjustments
that, that …” He gave up digging the hole. His mother's house in St James's had been one of the social landmarks of London and her salon quite notorious as the haunt of half the dissidents and degenerates in Europe. Even the Prince of Wales had been there. “And do you see many of your former friends?” he added lamely.

“If you mean am I abandoned by society, let me assure you that I do not lack for company and those that no longer count me a friend are not missed.”

“I am sure there is no reason for you to fly into a temper,” he soothed her. “I was merely enquiring after your welfare.” He looked up at the ceiling. “And do you live here alone?”

This question, too, was loaded. There had sometimes been a gentle man in residence at the house in St James's and not always the same one.

“I do have one companion,” she informed him, with a look that put him immediately upon his guard. He made a swift inventory of the most disreputable among his mother's acquaintance. “Her name is Mrs. Imlay, but you knew her as Mary Wollstonecraft.”

Nathan was taken aback, for this was the last name he would have imagined. “Mary Wollstonecraft?” he repeated stupidly.

“Yes. You remember? The author of
A Vindication of the Rights of Women,
which you so much enjoyed reading.”

“I know who you mean. But what is she doing in London?”

“Why should she not be in London? It is as much her home as anywhere, I believe.”

“But, I had thought she was in France. At least …”

“She
was
in France and now she is in London.”

Nathan was considerably agitated by this information, for he had known Mrs. Imlay in Paris during the Terror and was by no means sure he could count on her discretion, especially with his mother, whose methods of interrogation, though subtle, would have put the Spanish Inquisition to shame.

“And why is she staying with you?” he enquired with a frown.

“Why, where else should she stay in London? We were close friends when she was last here and corresponded even when she was in France, as you know, for I forwarded one of her letters to you. Concerning a mutual friend,” she added slyly.

“Yes,” he replied sharply. “Thank you for that.”

“I suppose it is useless for me to ask how you became acquainted with the Countess of Turenne?”

“Quite useless,” he assured her coolly, relieved to know that she had not already learned it from Mary.

“And was the rumour true, that she had escaped the guillotine?”

“I have no means of knowing. As you have explained, we are at war.” Her look was very like that of a cat contemplating a mouse that is altogether too assured for its own comfort. “So that was not why you were on a beach in France?”

“You have a very disconcerting way of putting two and two together and making five,” he observed.

“Yes, and you know something? In the world of politics, of which you are not as ignorant as you would have me believe, five is very often the right number.”

Finding himself unable to respond to this gibe as cleverly as he might have wished, Nathan contented himself with a shrug and the remark that there were some things she was better off not knowing.

“But that is exactly what the government thinks,” she declared in mock surprise. “In fact, it might almost have come directly from one of their spokesmen in the
Morning Post
. If you should tire of the Navy, my dear, or they of you, I am assured you would find employment in the Ministry of Misinformation.”

He regarded her warily. “Do they continue to trouble you?”

“Who?”

“The government. Or their agents. When I was last home you said they had you under surveillance and were making life difficult for your friends.”

“Which you did not believe.”

“I thought you might be exaggerating a little.”

“Ha. There are none so blind as those that will not see. However, even you, child, must be aware of the measures taken by the government to suppress dissent. And they have grown far worse of late, with the war going so badly for them.”

“Is the war going so badly ? I had not realised. The last I heard was that we had won a great victory in the Bay of Quiberon.”

“Pah. When only three French ships were took? I do not call that a great victory, whatever the government would make of it. But the expedition itself has been a disaster. Even their own hacks cannot disguise it. Surely you are aware of that.” She fixed him again with her cat's eyes and he was assured she knew perfectly well that the beach he had been on was at Quiberon. “And it is the same everywhere. The Duke of York made an utter shambles of the expedition to Flanders and was forced to retreat almost to Scandinavia. The people have made up a rhyme about it. Since when the Dutch have been forced to surrender, the Prussians have made peace, and now it is said the Spanish want out. Soon your Mr. Pitt will not have a single ally in Europe.”

“Well, that should content your friends in the Corresponding Societies,” Nathan responded tartly.

“Those that are not in jail already,” she whipped back at him. “I suppose you know you are taking a great risk being seen anywhere near me.”

“Oh, they think you are mad, Mother, and quite harmless. Though having Mrs. Imlay under your roof will not please them.”

“Oh and why is that?”

“Well, only that she has been in France for several years, moving about quite freely, though our two nations have been at war since '93. I am surprised she moves about quite so freely in London. Where is she now, anyway ?”

Lady Catherine looked about the room as if surprised not to see her there. “She must have gone to her room. I wonder if she did not wish to see you. Can you imagine a reason why she should not?”

“None whatsoever,” he assured her blithely, though there were many. “Save that my conversation might bore her.”

“Well, perhaps she thought to leave us alone for a while, to renew our acquaintance, for I have been very worried about you.” She regarded him fondly but the frown soon reappeared. “You look thin. When Izzy gets back from the market I will have her cook you a nice dinner. We usually dine late in Soho,” she added airily, “but we will make an exception for you.”

“That would be nice,” he assured her, but it was impossible to shake off his general air of despondency. “And will Mrs. Imlay be dining with us?”

“I expect so. She usually does.” They fell silent for a moment, each with their own thoughts on the subject. “Have you seen your father since you were back?” she enquired at length.

“No. I told you, I came straight up from Portsmouth.”

“Oh. So you did. Well, and do you plan to visit him during what we must not call your convalescence?”

“Possibly. It rather depends what plans the Admiralty have for me.”

Nathan wondered if she had been informed about his father's plans. Better not to say anything on that score, he thought. He might have dropped them. It was certainly to be hoped he had.

“How is Mary, anyway ?” he persisted. “The last I heard she was with child.”

“Well, she is now a mother. And the child is above a year old and quite a bonny creature, though Mary is not as well as I could have hoped.” She dropped her voice. “Indeed I am quite worried about her.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

“Well, you must keep this under your hat …”

Nathan lifted this item cautiously from the window-seat and peered under it as if to confirm that there was room.

“Well, if you do not wish to know …” his mother complained pettishly.

“I am sorry, Mother, do please continue.”

“I was going to say, but why should I tell you, when you are so disagreeable and do not have the slightest concern for her?”

“I beg your pardon. It was remiss of me. Please. I am most concerned, for I have come to entertain the greatest respect for Mrs. Wollstonecraft, or Imlay, if that is what she wishes to be called.”

“Oh, have you indeed? There is a wonder for you did not appear to be the least respectful when she was last a guest in my house and I seem to remember poured scorn upon her writing, not that you had read more than a page of it. And when did this occur?”

“Oh, it has just grown upon me, over the years,” he remarked lightly. Clearly Mary had been discreet about the adventures they had shared in Paris—and the other friends he had made there.

His mother was regarding him with suspicion. “Well, as you appear to know a great deal more of her life than you are prepared to reveal to me, you probably know she has been crossed in love, as they say in the romantic novels.”

He dealt easily with this. “I believe you told me when I last saw you that her husband was involved with an actress from a strolling theatrecompany.”

“Did I tell you that? Yes, well, he still is, as Mary discovered upon her return from France. And what is more, he now maintains that their marriage was a sham. That is to say, in the legal sense, having been conducted by the American Minister in Paris and not a proper clergyman, though Imlay must have known this at the time, the rogue, even if poor Mary did not. And now he says that though he is prepared to give his name to the child he does not wish them to live as man and wife.”

“Wait a moment.” Nathan raised a hand in protest. “You are going too fast for me. When you say ‘he still is,' what do you mean, precisely ?”

“Well, I do not know how I can make it any clearer. I mean that he is still living with his actress.”

“What—here in London?”

“Of course here in London. Where do you think I mean? In Eskimoland?”

It was quite possible, given Imlay's predilection for popping up in unexpected places. Certainly it would have been less alarming.

“Do you mean to say Imlay is here in London? Now?”

Lady Catherine raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Dear me. Am I expressing myself badly or has the blow to your head done more damage to your wits than you would have me believe?”

“I am sorry. I am confused.” Having delivered Imlay into the custody of the authorities on a charge of spying for the French, he thought he had every right to be confused. But this was not something he wished to debate with his mother.

“So, he is seen walking about town, quite freely ?”

“Why should he not be, there being no sanction in law to prevent a man forsaking his wife for another woman—and certainly he appears to have no shame at the plight he has put poor Mary in.”